I finished my Theology degree (studies in religion, ethics, history, and philosophy since we studied Nietzsche, Kierkegaard and Wittgenstein) early in 2015. During the drive home from my last class, I was sure that writing (speculative fiction) books was what I wanted to do. But being a fiction author just wouldn’t work as a career for a twenty-something year old. So I shelved that ambition, and travelled to Europe.

In Europe, I spent most of my time in Paris where both sights, and culture relit my desire to write. There was a day when I sat looking at the Eiffel Tower, pondering at its complex structure, and influence. Like the tower, I wanted to create something that would inspire others, and stand the test of time. I rose to my feet and decided then and there that I was going to be a novelist.

Fortunately, I had been writing notes, dialogues, drawing maps, and creating a backstory for the last ten years. So the groundwork to write had been set. I wrote that novel up until the one-third mark, or as Brandon Sanderson calls it ‘the death zone.’ At this point in my life I knew, I just didn’t have enough skill to finish telling that story.

I returned to Sydney, and was still adamant on becoming a novelist. This resulted in a decision to study a Masters in Creative Writing. Many of the people I told shook their heads. I was sure the only person who told me to go ahead and pursue it was my mother, of course with the constant reminder of the impending cost it was going to burden me (maybe until my passing day).

As I studied, I was determined to learn everything about storytelling. But what they didn’t teach was how to finish a novel. And there was, and is, only one-way to finish a novel, and that’s to keep writing.

            Just to note at this point, I started a new novel as a way to practice all the skills I was getting taught. It all began with an idea of a physician sent to assassinate an ill politician who was corrupt. From there I studied and created the groundwork for a new world: government, religion, society, philosophy, and economics. But most importantly, I wrote relentlessly. I took my laptop with me wherever possible, and I typed whenever I could. It took one year to complete the novel. 80,513 words. Finished.

A sense of catharsis covered me after I finished writing a whole novel. It was the first step in proving to myself that this was for me. But it also took no longer than two days after to realise the work has only actually begun. Another draft was surely in need. And questions like: will I want to get this published, do I write a sequel, what am I doing with my life, plagued me.

There’s a point in our lives where we have the opportunity to pursue something we love at the expense of convenience. 

Through this time, three realisations helped me make a decision:

1.    I loved doing this, and I was willing to do it for free.

2.    There’s a difference between writing just for me, and getting published.

3.    Everything is a learning process.

Whether you play it safe or take a risk, the beautiful part is that you get to decide according to your conviction.

Today, the results of my decision isn’t as I’d picture: I sit with a completed Masters degree in Creative writing (some have told me it's not a real degree. Maybe they're right), an unpublished novel on its third draft, and writing free content. But through the thick of the journey, I wouldn't want to be doing anything else.  

Surely the pursuit of our passion is a tenet of our purpose.

Words and Photos by: S.I. Finlayson